A hot and consuming New Adult romance about a wayward musician and the one girl who keeps him grounded…

At college, Rachel has a reputation for being a sarcastic flirt with a thing for star athletes. No one at school knows that she’d had her heart ripped to shreds by her high school sweetheart, who’d driven them both off the side of the road on a borrowed motorcycle, and then abandoned her. No one knows the real Rachel Mattson—except one person…

Ever since he helped nurse his sister’s feisty best friend back to health, pierced bass player Kai Nakos has been head over heels in love. But the supposed bad boy can’t risk letting Rachel know the truth—especially now that the two of them are back in their hometown for the summer, together for the first time since the months following that fateful night. Never mind that Rachel’s ex is back, groveling for her forgiveness.

Shaken by her ex’s return, Rachel finds herself turning to the one guy she knows she can trust. Kai is willing to hide his feelings for her, just to have Rachel touch him again. After all, this is only a temporary fling. Until it becomes something more. But maybe it had been more all along.

NYT Best selling authors, Christina Lauren said this about WHISPER TO ME "Whisper to me lifts us up by the heartstrings and tosses us wildly about."

USA Today Best selling author, Alice Clayton, said "Christina Lee is a new adult wonder!"

I padded to the kitchen and reached for a glass, unsure if Kai was even awake. As I turned the faucet on low, I heard it—the soft hum of his bass. My heart leapt in my chest. I didn’t know what the hell I was so anxious about. But the anticipation of seeing him, just talking to him alone, had revved my pulse to a feverish tempo.

But maybe he didn’t want any company tonight.

I wandered over to his door, unsure of what I’d say or even if I’d knock. Instead, I stood motionless, listening to him play. It was a low and drowsy strum, and I swayed against the wall, my senses dulled. During a longer pause, my knuckles tapped once and then twice against the wood. I heard the sounds of what could have been his returning his heavy bass to its stand and papers rustling, and then the door slowly creaked open. Kai stood in front of me with his hair hanging loose at his shoulders. He had on those obscenely tight gray skinny jeans from earlier and nothing else.

My gaze followed the line of his neck, across his shoulder, to the muscular biceps propping the door open. I spotted the set of free weights resting beneath the stand of his bass. He’d definitely been working out in the three years since I’d last seen him. He wasn’t overly muscular like some athletes I’d been with, just lean and fit.

My gaze tripped over to his sculpted pecs and landed on his nipples. His pierced nipples—that seemed to harden at my perusal. F*ck, that was hot. Since when did I think silver hoops dangling from a guy’s nipples were sexy? But on Kai, they worked.

Like fruit waiting to be plucked, they hung above the trunk of his sculpted abdomen, while a smattering of fine hairs branched from beneath the button of his pants. Hot damn.

“What’s up, Rachel?” He swallowed thickly. “Did I wake you?”

“I . . .” I finally met his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep and I heard you were up.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He moved aside to allow me to pass into the room. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“Actually, most of the time your music lulls me to sleep.”

“Yeah?” he said in a low and gruff voice. “Is that why you’re here—so I can put you to sleep?”

“No, you ass.” I grinned. “Well, maybe.”

When his eyes turned dark, I mumbled, “Just kidding.”

Mother, wife, reader, dreamer. Christina lives in the Midwest with her husband and son--her two favorite guys. She's addicted to lip gloss and salted caramel everything. She believes in true love and kissing, so writing romance novels has become a dream job. She also owns her own jewelry business, called Tags-n-Stones, where she hand-stamps meaningful words or letters onto silver for her customers. She loves to hear from her readers. You can find her on: www.christinalee.net.